


Iceberg Theory

by whathopsareinthis



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26977297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whathopsareinthis/pseuds/whathopsareinthis
Summary: “At least -” He reassumes a confident stance, propping an arm on the small of his back. “Do we know the student’s name?”Sidon lets the pause reach the second trimester before he answers.“Dragmire.”
Relationships: Ganondorf/Link (Legend of Zelda), Ganondorf/Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Prince Sidon
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Iceberg Theory

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for checking out the first part in my next series. I'm calling it Iceberg Theory.  
> This won't be so much about beer. I want to talk about new ideas while still maintaining the same level of representation.  
> I haven't decided who will end up where at the end.

The harsh carbonated spruce that invades Link’s tastebuds is enough for him to regret even showing up late.

This function is meant to be a “friendly mixer” for grad students like himself. “Mixer” is a big stretch - it was the same donors that listened in one ear to the sweet nothings of the athletics department while remaining deaf to Link’s own struggles in favor of a “tolerance initiative.” Link is thankful that if he was going to be called slurs, it was happening behind closed doors and not on his office board. 

It’s not bad enough that the school that’s got him chained to the hip is short on TAs for the new semester, they’re in a town with little else to do but drink and are surrounded by a brewery-led economy. To Link, most beer tastes like Christmas tree water - Zora gin was more his speed. He can’t even pretend to be himself, or drink himself to that point, not on this “ _craft.”_ His stomach turns as he swivels and forces the swig down his gullet, before turning back and asking, “Sorry, you were saying? About the program.”

His taller counterpart, Kokiri U English department head Sidon, shakes his head with a toothy chuckle and claps his shoulder. “Cmon champ, at least _pretend_ to have a bit of fun! It’s your last semester!”

Link scowls, the reminder a blessing wrapped around a blanket of existential dread. He hates how small Sidon makes him feel. How small this party makes him feel. This school. He refuses to wonder how small the world will make him feel once the training wheels come off.

His department, more or less, dwindled over his undergrad career and into his grad student tenure as well. Someone told him, ‘never pick your alma mater for grad school,’ something he brushed off when he was convinced this department could find the prestige that was sold to him as a wide-eyed seventeen year old. He was to be a Child of the Forest.

Link’s literary mind wonders if he’d missed the forest for the trees and strongly reconsiders finishing his beer.

“Champ?” Sidon’s waving hand over his face brings him back to the present. 

Link finds a mantel to ditch his can and lets a big sigh pass his nose, tiny dragon tendencies a symptom of his discomfort. Another small blessing. “Did we even figure out my place in it? You were at the budget meeting, yeah?”

Sidon’s grin all but disappears, reaffirming its natural status. Link knows when Sidon is brown-nosing for money and when he’s genuinely enjoying himself, and the joy is sucked out of his face by that question. 

“Right. Um… we’re, um.” A scoff passes Link’s pursed lips as Sidon starts to stall with a sip of his own sparkling glass, clearing his throat as he ungracefully shifts his course of action. “We’re seeing some… cuts. Potentially. Maybe.” He actively frowns, letting his maroon-eyed gaze fall on his constituents. “We’re losing the research wing, that much is for sure.”

Link’s sunken heart sinks like an antacid, and his stomach sours. No cure for him today. “Oh, champ, no no no! All is not lost! There’s still hope!” 

Link can’t even bear to notice how unconvincing his superior sounds. He glazes over. 

“Now, there is a… condition to this.” Sidon’s rosy cheeks spring into full bloom, and he reluctantly lays out the terms. “This is… incredibly between us. Strictly confidential. But… Kokiri U is receiving a… huge get for a student. A freshman that could bring something back to the school that has been missing for a long time.” Those slender fingers gently coax the downtrodden Link to a corner. “Full ride scholarship. Football. You know the type.” 

_All too well,_ Link is quick to remind himself of. He’s still not looking up at Sidon.

“No one knows why, but he was dead set on this being his collegiate experience. I guess he needed a change of pace. I don’t blame him, especially being an only son.”

Link’s eyes turn back towards the can, and old habits start to rise in the first of his gut. This night could end, right now, if he really _really_ wants it to. He scratches his blonde scruff, feeling a grey hair fill in at his apprehension.

“And….” Sidon lets that flashy grin come back. “Word is he’s leaning towards being an English major.”

And the smaller man is pulled back in. Not by much, but it’s enough to refocus eye contact. His head tilts ever so slightly. “Has he formally declared?”  
“Not yet! Not yet. However…” Link is starting to tire of these pregnant pauses that Sidon is so fond of. It’s a mannerism that haunts Link from his time as a student taking his pre-requisite for the degree under Sidon. Seventy-five minutes never felt so… cliff-hanger. 

“However. I happen to have procured an entrance interview for the degree with this student on Sunday. Called in a favor.” Wink. “He’s doing a private campus tour. No one can say anything, or we’ll spoil the reveal. And you know how this old queen loves a good reveal.” Sidon’s old-guard tendencies were showing again. Link, as the new guard, keeps him on track. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Link’s still stuck on the can, barely engaged. So small, he felt. He could make it all go away, make tonight a blur-

“I’m telling you this because… I want you to be present at the interview.”

Link is almost offended at how shocked he feels, hand twitching to keep from clutching his pearls. The fuck did that mean?

“What the fuck does that mean? Why would you want _me_ there?”

“Why would I not want the most diligent and prolific English major this school has ever seen?” Sidon’s voice rises in a disbelief that both men are accustomed to. “Twice nationally printed, _thrice_ nominated for Short Story of the Year by the Hyrule Kingdom Collegiate Literary Committee?” Both hands gently grab his shoulders. There’s nowhere for Link’s modesty to hide. Sidon avoids the glances of his colleagues, fixated on his student and confidant. 

“Champ… you are the definition, the very epitome, of what makes this school still relevant. We’re small, but we hold ourselves to a standard that, when matched with the right students with the proper motivation, makes us untouchable. Link…” 

He winces. Sidon rarely uses his name.

“I know you have had your demons. We all do. But this is a chance, a real opportunity, to find a student who could be just as passionate about storytelling and art as you’ve shown you are.” Sidon offers a small smile. “You could show the student body that we’re still a hot-ticket department.” 

Link is touched. He’s offended. His eyes are forced shut by what lays dormant inside him. His mind is racing. The past eight years could be more than a diminishing return. All this could mean something. Really mean something....

He inhales, and a barely audible “Okay” rides his exhale out. The breath is enough to let his eyes open again.

Sidon nods accordingly, that wide smile beaming on his face. “There’s the champion I know.”

“At least -” He reassumes a confident stance, propping an arm on the small of his back. “Do we know the student’s name?”

Sidon lets the pause reach the second trimester before he answers.   
“Dragmire.”

\--

Link doesn’t spend too long mulling over the name, because the goddamned lightbulb needs to be replaced in his dorm later that night.

The maintenance request he’s submitted two weeks prior seems to have fallen on deaf ears. With a strained “c’mon,” Link _streeetches_ , now precariously teeters between the two angles of the bottom of his dorm chair. The larger single reserved for Resident Assistants has enough space for him to keep him out of an apartment that costs triple his tuition. A final pivot of his hand, and his room illuminates again, and as he finally loses balance it prompts him to bail on the chair, a dull thud resonating on the floor. It’s good that he’s alone - new students aren’t due for another week. 

Which is why, as he pokes out to use the dorm bathroom, his bumping into someone else makes him jump like a Gossip Stone.

\--

“Excuse you.” Link’s gasp and immediate surprise betrays his courtesy, and he looks up to find a deeply intimidating figure, merely a few inches taller but far more stalwart body holding up a chiseled chin. His olive skin seems to shine under the light, and there’s a lot of it to notice. He’s only wearing a towel. The voice he speaks with is not the voice Link attaches to someone built the way he is, gentle and inquiring. Link, suddenly reminded of his own scraggly-looking hipster vibes, manages, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that-” His head tilts, suddenly remembering the situation. “I’m sorry, are you meant to be here?”  
“I’m a transfer.” The response is alarmingly prompt. Link hadn’t known of any transfers. He also hasn’t checked his email in a week. Link straightens and clears his throat.

“O-of course. Um. My name is Link, and I’m the RA for this floor. I just - was moving stuff in my room. Um.”

“Is something wrong?” The transfer takes a step closer. Link takes an instinctive step backward. 

“N-no, I just. Um.”

“You hesitate when you speak. You keep your distance.” He offers a hand. “We are not opponents. We aren’t in any kind of conflict. You should not need to be on guard. It is just you and me.” 

His voice is laced with a disarming concern. Link feels his eyes sting, fighting the sudden urge to cry. The transfer continues. “You are the one who is in charge here? This floor?”

Link’s shoulders sag as the inevitabile that he always expects fades from the moment, and he grabs his temples. He nods. “You’re right. I’ve just - I’ve got a lot on my mind.”  
“Your job - is it difficult?”   
“Well -” That’s not an easy question to answer. He purses his lips. “It goes beyond work. It’s not important.”   
“Is the work you do not important?”

Link is getting annoyed at how quickly he’s being responded to, and his eyes sting harder as the question is asked. He can’t stand this any longer.

“I should let you get to your shower.” He turns to leave. 

“I didn’t mean offense.” Link’s ears grow red hot, and the fact that there’s no raising in his voice puts him back on edge.

“I-” He almost snaps as he turns back, his hand clutching the door, and his voice cracks as he says, “I know. Thank you.” He looks up, and they meet eyes for the first time. He’s taken another step closer. “I’m just - tired. Got a lot to work on tomorrow. Nice to meet you. Good night.” 

He lets the door click behind him as he deflates into his room, slinking into his bed and curling under his blankets. 

\--

He hates how small the “transfer” makes him feel. How small everything makes him feel. 

The floors creak as a set of heavy footsteps darken the light under his door. An agonizing forty seconds pass, Link instinctively remaining silent in place. 

_Go away. Go away. Please go away and let me suffer in peace._

By virtue, the steps eventually head into the bathroom, and Link hears the creak of a faucet turning.

_I really should have finished my beer._

Link’s phone vibrates on the nightstand next to him. He ignores it, turning his body away from the wall.

He looks over to his shelf, that bottle of Zora gin half consumed sticking out. 

He stares at it until exhaustion takes him.


End file.
